


fold into me (like a heart with a beat)

by Japery



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2019 Blues Cup Celebration, 2019 Stanley Cup Playoffs, Airplane Sex, Bathroom Sex, Friends With Benefits, Frottage, Gratuitous Use of Crop Tops, M/M, Pining, Semi-Public Sex, The St. Louis Blues are Stanley Cup Champions and Drunk About It, as much pining as Colton can do whilst still having regular sex, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 13:44:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19746937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Japery/pseuds/Japery
Summary: “I think I’ll fuck Factor next.” Joel says conversationally, his hand halfway around Colton’s dick.“Pardon?” Colton asks.





	fold into me (like a heart with a beat)

**Author's Note:**

> i don't claim to know and mean no harm to the people represented in this fic, if you found this by googling yourself or anyone you know, i'd advise you to click right on out of here.
> 
> all i know about the blues is that winning the cup unlocked a level of drunken thotiness than i could have ever dreamed, and here's my humble offering for the distinct lack of fic that that produced
> 
> thanks to [annie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dalmatienne/pseuds/dalmatienne) and [erica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alaspooryorick/pseuds/alaspooryorick), and ethan for beta-ing and cheering me on with this, and carly rae jepsen's "too much" for the title.

“I think I’ll fuck Factor next.” Joel says conversationally, his hand halfway around Colton’s dick.

“Pardon?” Colton asks. He shifts his weight a little off his hip so Joel’s not pushing him up against the sink quite so hard. Stanley Cup or not, he didn’t want to be the one to explain to Chief that they had to stop the flight because he and Eddy were too careless when they crammed themselves into the airplane bathroom to hook up. It’s a little hard to focus when Joel’s got one big, talented hand sliding up and down his cock with almost professional ease, thigh pressed flush against his, letting Colton lay one hand over his perfect abs under the excuse that he’s keeping them balanced. 

“Factor’s MVP.” Joel explains, moving another hand to wrap around Colton’s cock, enveloping him in his tight, hot grip. “He deserves to get dicked down. I’m like, volunteering.” 

“What about Dayna?” Colton bites off a whimper as Joel rubs a thumb over the sensitive head of his cock and looks up at him, puzzled. “Dayna O'Reilly? Factor’s wife? You’ve met so many times. You follow her on Instagram.” 

Joel’s eyes widen in recognition, and he smiles, dumb enough to kiss. “They’re like hippie, crunchy, granola organic free love types.” He says dismissively. “I’ll make a donation to a whale or something in her name.” He’s so confident in this assertion, like he was when he said they’d win the Cup, that Colton can’t find it in him to argue. “You ever seen that one documentary, with the whales at SeaWorld?” 

Colton makes a choked off inhuman noise, now that he’s confused, impossibly horny, and sad about whales at the same time. Joel pats the head of his dick sympathetically, and then leans up to kiss him. “Sorry, big guy.” He murmurs, running his teeth along the seam of Colton’s lip. Colton kisses back reflexively, bucking his hips at the same time and knocking his shoulder into the paper towel dispenser. 

Joel kisses like he does everything, with magnetic, effortless confidence, exactly the kind that could wink at Colton across a plane and draw him into a bathroom without a moment’s hesitation. Colton falls into it, every time, gets washed away by the power of it, whimpers for it once its gone and Joel draws away. 

“You think I could do it, though? Fuck Factor, I mean.” Joel asks, eyes wide and earnest. 

Colton swallows, and gives him a strained, watery smile. “You just won a Stanley Cup, man. I’m pretty sure you can fuck whoever you want.” 

“Fucking rights.” Joel says, and he gets a devilish look in his eye. “You want I should blow you now, dude?” He asks, his voice low and husky. Colton blinks, and nods slowly.

Joel flicks his tongue over his teeth to wet his lips, and sinks to his knees, and makes Colton forget his own name let alone Factor’s, makes him forget everything except the hot, wet cavern of Joel’s mouth taking him in like he’s nothing, the fact that he’s a Stanley Cup champion, and that’s got another Stanley Cup champion blowing him in an airplane bathroom. 

Fucking rights, indeed. 

// 

Borts raises an eyebrow at Colton when he finally slumps back into his seat. “Eddy, really?” They both watch as Joel bounds over to Barbie and Vlad, steals a glass of champagne from them and tosses it back like he hadn’t just swallowed Colton’s load minutes ago. 

“He’d probably be up for a round, if you ask him.” Colton jokes. It falls a little flat, and Borts looks unimpressed. 

“No thanks, I’ve already got an idiot boyfriend who won’t stop blowing up my texts.” Borts grumbles, holding up his phone, though he seems more fond than anything else. “If the NHL rumor mill tells him I’m fucking someone else he’s gonna blow his whole grocery budget on butt plugs and skimpy outfits to seduce me back again.” Borts pauses for a second. “Actually, that does sound kinda fun right now. But yeah no, I’ll pass.” 

“How is Beau, by the way?” Colton asks, genuinely interested, though he is watching Joel flounce over Factor’s seat and start fluttering his eyelashes. 

Borts smiles a little. “He’s good, all things considered. Training again. Annoying as shit.” His phone buzzes with another text, and Borts rolls his eyes. Then something in his loosens, softens a little as he reads it. “Goddamn I fucking miss him.” He mutters, more to himself than to Colton. 

Colton wonders what it’s like to have someone to miss. He watches as Joel rests a hand on Factor’s shoulder and leans over him, ostensibly reading the names on the Conn-Smythe, though in no way does that require toying with Factor’s chest hair. He thinks, almost inexplicably, that he doesn’t really want to know. 

//

Colton is very drunk. He’s not often drunk, just because of like, blood weight alcohol levels, but he’s chugged out of the Cup on the balcony three times today, and drank everything a fan has handed him--or has left not nailed down--since he got to the restaurant.

Vladdy thought it would be a great idea to start serving some of the fans pizza, and watching people be helpful without being helpful himself always activates some deep instincts in the depths of drunk Colton’s soul, so he’s found himself behind the bar pouring people drinks. The actual bartender seems to appreciate him as a distraction if anything, and Colton feels appropriately useful. 

“Do we tip you?” A fan asks, a smiling redheaded woman who is making eyes at him like Eddy does to anyone who compliments his facial hair. She’s got to be at least a foot and a half shorter than him, which is a little terrifying. Colton beams back at her and takes a swig of her beer. 

“I don’t need money ma’am, just a little off the top.” He tells her cheerfully, hitting the ma’am as crisp as he can. Her face falls, and he throws the beer between each hand and slides it over the bar to her to make her smile again. 

“Turning tricks, Colt? That’s hot.” Joel says, parting the crowd like he’s been borne from the ether. He’s wearing a crop top, a skimpy excuse for a shirt that’s showing more skin than the redheaded woman. It’s a We Bleed Blue shirt, with half the logo cut off, and the light from the bar glitters off of Joel’s abs in a way that makes Colton cottonmouthed. 

“Were you wearing that earlier?” Colton asks, licking his lips unconsciously. Joel’s eyes follow his tongue, and he smiles wolfishly. 

“Nope,” he says, popping the p. “Made it myself.” He runs his thumb over the hem, ghosting his hand over his abs. Noticing Colton’s gaze latching to his thumb, he brings it up to swipe under his bottom lip, and smiles wider at him. “Edna Mode, eat your ass out.” He says triumphantly. 

“Is that the fashion designer from the Incredibles?” Colton asks. 

Joel puts a hand on his hips and raises an eyebrow at him. “Do you know any actual fashion designers, Berta beef?” 

Without missing a beat, Colton answers. “Kanye West.” 

Joel laughs, deep enough to send a rush of warmth through Colton’s chest. “Well, fuck me, Yeezy.”

Colton’s about to volunteer, gladly, to help him with that, when Schenner shows up on the other side of the bar and demands beer like he’s Thor with worse abs. Colton sighs, turning away from Joel to turn on the tap. Joel seems to spot something across the room, Factor signing someone’s shirt, and before Colton can get back, he disappears into the crowd. 

He fills Schenner an entire pint of beer, and he drinks it in front of him. “Sorry, buddy, that’s my tip.” He says when Schenner gawks at him.

//  
Eventually, the actual staff kicks out from behind the bar when he tries to shrimp in the pocket a beer bottle without his shirt actually having a pocket, so he wanders downstairs to the crowds. 

He takes a few selfies and dances his way through the fans, singing a few Glorias for good measure. They start playing Carly Rae Jepsen songs, and Colton drinks some really strong IPA from someone’s hat with straws coming out of it, and he really starts feeling himself when he spots it. 

There’s a little crowd surrounding someone, and it takes a second for Colton to recognize Joel, mostly because he’s wearing an entirely different, searingly hot outfit.

Joel’s leaning against a car, nursing a beer, cowboy hat pulled over his eyes to block out the setting sun. He’s somehow found a shorter crop top, dark grey tight over his biceps and framing his abs as they glint marbled in the dying light. His dark jeans hang suggestively low, showing off just enough of the waistband of his underwear to drive Colton absolutely insane. He’s nursing a beer over dark red, smirking lips, and inexplicably has another one tucked into the pocket of his jeans. 

Someone pours a beer over Colton’s head, and he blinks through the streaming liquid soaking into his hair at Joel’s beckoning laugh. He makes his way towards him, apologizing as he pushes past a couple dancing up on each other, and stumbles as he bursts out of the crowd. 

“Whoa there, big boy.” Joel says, catching Colton with his shoulder and smiling at him cheekily. He’s big enough, strong enough to do that. Not a lot of people are. Most of these fans surrounding them that would get crushed like ants if Colton decided to fall over them.

Colton braces a hand at Joel’s hip to stabilize himself, feeling warm and solid under his touch. “You look good.” Colton breathes out, eyes wide and reverent.

“I always look good.” Joel teases, his hand resting warm on Colton’s chest, right over his heart. If he was brave, Colton could lean down and kiss him, taste the alcohol on those supple lips and suck a mark into the nape of his neck, right where the crop top dips low. If he was brave, he’d show Joel, show this crowd, show all of St. Louis and the world over that Colton may not be a Conn-Smythe winner, but he’s a champion too, and he can take what he wants. 

He’s not brave, and he’s a little dizzy, so he doesn’t do any of that. Instead, he flips around to lean on the car next to Joel, knuckles brushing over the side of his stomach and breathes out, looking at all the people around them, watching. 

“Looks like Parry’s had a little too much to drink, y’all.” Eddy laughs, knocking their shoulders together companionably. He turns to smile at the crowd, and Colton catches the name on the back of his shirt. 

O’Reilly - 90, emblazoned tightly between Joel’s shoulder blades like a brand, or a promise. 

That explains where he got the hat. 

A fan, a woman with dark eyes and dark hair and bright blue lipstick, comes up to ask for an autograph. 

Colton puts on a smile. “Only for a dance,” he says. He swirls around, picking the beer out of Joel’s pocket and chugging what’s left of it. Eddy lights up, rolling his hips and pumping his own beer in the air. 

“Hell yeah, big boy knows how to party!” Joel yells, and Colton leads the woman by the wrist into the crowd, Gloria blaring through the speakers. 

//

Colton wakes up to a rush of air, and he’s suddenly stumbling on his hands over concrete to balance himself as he falls out of the side door of a minivan. Petro looks down on him from where he’d opened the door, looking unimpressed. 

“You awake, buddy?” His captain says. Colton shakes a Moana cloth rattle off the side of his face. 

“Did you take me home?” Colton asks, his voice still a little shot. He still feels kind of woozy, his head pounding uncomfortably. Petro snorts. 

“No, the cops dropped you off here at 4 am, and you decided you wanted to climb into my car and sleep ‘where the Cup slept.’” He eyes the minivan curiously, where Colton’s leg is still dragging out of one of the three carseats as he tries to crawl out. “Don’t ask me how the fuck you got in there, I have no idea.” 

“I guess I’m baby.” Colton says placidly. Petro picks a crushed bag of Goldfish off his back and throws it into the car. 

Petro rolls his eyes and leans down to offer him a hand. “You want eggs, baby? Jayne’s making eggs.” Colton’s stomach rumbles loudly. 

“If you don’t mind?”  
`  
Colton finally pulls himself all the way up, shaking crumbs and what looks like glitter as he goes. Suddenly a wave of nausea hits him, and he starts to sway. 

“Oh fuck, don’t you dare throw up on my lawn or my bougie neighbors’ll sue me for ruining their property values!” 

“Sorry!” Colton says, as Petro herds him into the house. 

“Hi Colton!” Jayne yells down the hallway as they pass, the triplets burbling along with her. 

Petro gets him in the bathtub, still fully clothed, and turns on the shower. The ice cold water soaks into his hair, his dry, beer-soaked shirt. Colton groans, gathering his head in his knees. 

“You know, of all people, I didn’t expect this to be you, Colt.” Petro notes, leaning against the bathtub and staring down at him pityingly. “I really thought this would be an Eddy thing.” 

Colton groans even louder at the mention of Eddy. Petro makes a calculating face. “Oh, it is an Eddy thing. Really? You can do better.” 

Colton looks up at him, exhausted, water streaming over his face. “Sorry,” he says, pulling his knees up to his chin. “But I don’t really want to do better.” He throws his head back dramatically, draping himself over the back of the bathtub. “He’s the one who wants to do better.” He swings his arm out and jostles a big container of baby shampoo that falls in the cradle between his knees and his chest. “Ow.” 

Petro reaches in to grab the shampoo and set it to the side. Impulsively, he runs a hand through Colton’s sodding hair. “I’m pretty sure Eddy takes what he can get. Does he know he can get you?” 

Colton can’t think about it. He can’t think about marching up to Joel, grabbing him by the crop top and telling him that he’s got him, that he’s had him, that he’s a big dumb boy from Alberta who has too many feelings and can’t even hook up with a teammate in an airplane bathroom without getting jealous at the chance of Joel trying to do exactly the same thing with someone else. 

He can’t think about it, so instead he leans over towards the drain and throws up. 

Petro pats him on the back.. “I could be eating eggs right now.” He says, wistfully. “Things I do for a Cup.” 

// 

Petro cleans him up, lends him some dry clothes, and brings him home so he can pass out in a sunbeam on his bed like a cat, and Colton wakes up again to someone throwing a shirt at his head. 

“Get up, we’re taking the cup to Wheelhouse!” Colton pulls the shirt off of his head, and Joel swims into view. He’s all long legs in tight black jeans worn sinfully low, a backwards snapback and--Oh god, he’s wearing another crop top, a long-sleeved dark grey Budweiser shirt that accentuates the V of his hips. He’s smiling at Colton expectantly, eyes glued to where Colton has Petro’s borrowed shirt rucked up over his pecs. Joel clicks his tongue in his mouth, runs it over his front teeth, and Colton’s suddenly very aware of how hard he is in his shorts. 

“How did you get into my apartment?” Colton asks, voice still hoarse. 

Joel snorts, trailing his fingers over the side of the bed as he waltzes closer to Colton. “Snuck in through the fire escape.” He says, like that explains anything. Colton doesn’t really have time to dwell on it though, focusing more on Joel popping his thumb in his mouth, wetting it enough to drag it in circles over Colton’s nipple. Colton lets out a breath, buckling under his touch. “We have some time, can I help you get dressed?” 

“Please,” Colton chokes out, and Joel chuckles again. He leans in, like he’s going to kiss him, but when Colton tries his lips just meet the crown of Joel’s head as he squeezes Colton’s nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and starts to swirl his tongue around. Colton sinks into the bed under the pressure, one hand snaking into Joel’s hair and the other grasping at the sheets as he arches his chest up for more of Joel’s talented mouth. Joel switches sides, eagerly lapping and licking, dragging his teeth over the sensitive nubs, and Colton can feel him smirking at every little noise he draws out of him. 

Colton closes his eyes, brings one hand up to run his fingers over Joel’s abs, tracing every hard edge and plane with his finger tips. He brushes over the waistband of Joel’s underwear and the buckle of his belt. “You’re wearing too many clothes,” he whines. 

“Yeah, have you seen this outfit? It’s fucking hot.” Joel breathes out over his neck, pulling himself over Colton to straddle him. He rolls his hips over the seat of Colton’s pants, laying pressure over Colton’s hard cock through the layers of fabric. “Oh shit, this’ll be sick.” He says, smiling devilishly. He paws at his belt and the zipper of his jeans, meeting Colton’s eye. “Can I rub off on your chest?” 

Colton blinks at him, and nods vigorously. 

Joel throws his belt over the headboard, shimmies his jeans down around his ankles, revealing a cock as long and as pretty as Colton could ever imagine. Colton scrambles to throw off his own shirt without a care, leaning back against the headboard so Joel can drag the wet head of his cock over his abs, slapping it twice against his pecs.  
“God, you’re so fucking big.” Joel muses, punctuating every word with another roll of his hips. He stabilizes himself on Colton’s shoulders, his cock nestling flush between his stomach and Colton’s pecs. His cockhead glistens mesmerizingly over his abs, and Colton wants a taste of them both.

Joel yelps as Colton bites lightly at the skin of Joel’s navel, once at each side. Joel buckles a little, and Colton takes the opportunity to start to suckle at his cockhead, lapping at it every time Joel thrusts up between his pecs. Joel buckles, catching himself around Colton as he rubs against his abs and chest in shallow, artless thrusts. He comes with a shout of Colton’s name and a squeeze of his shoulder, painting Colton’s chest with ribbons of come that connect in long strands to his chin. 

Hurriedly, Joel falls backwards and snakes a hand into Colton’s jeans and it doesn’t take long before Colton’s spilling come over his hand, leaving them both breathless and Colton a mess, but Joel clean enough to wipe his hand on the comforter and shimmy his jeans back on. He presses one last kiss to a freckle above Colton’s collarbone, and sighs contentedly. 

“All right, good pregame, bud!” Joel says, smacking Colton on the back. “We gotta go, Fabbs is in the car by himself and he’s probably gonna bitch at me.” He picks up Colton’s discarded shirt to wipe the come off of him, and fishes for the one he’d thrown at him originally. 

“What?” Colton asks, pulling the new shirt on dutifully and looks around for some clean jeans. Joel bounds over to Colton’s bedside table, searching through the drawers for something. “You just left him there while we--”

“Take some rubbers, bro!” Joel hollers in lieu of answering Colton’s questions, throwing a whole bunch of condoms from the--almost embarrassingly full--box in his cabinet towards Colton. Most of them scatter on the bed, but he manages to catch a few of them. 

“What’re these for?” Colton asks, a warm flush rising to his cheeks. “We don’t--I mean, we haven’t--” He’s thought about it, of course, thought about fucking Joel a lot these last few days, but he figured they’d be prepared for it and have a lot more time than when their teammate was waiting in the car after they’d already both gotten off together, and maybe Colton could like, do something--Joel wasn’t a roses kind of guy, but Colton was, and maybe they could compromise and go to dinner first.

Joel looks at him like he’s an idiot. “We’re going to a bar with the Stanley Cup, dude. You’re gonna need something to wrap up that magnum opus, Mr. Holland.” He smiles ear to ear, and reaches over to shove a couple of Colton’s condoms into his back pocket himself. He marches in lockstep, and points one finger towards the door. “Le-go, boys.” 

“Du-plo, boys.” Colton jokes back out of reflex, pocketing a condom. He’s pretty unconvinced that he’s going to need them if Joel does what Joel does and picks up someone else--maybe Factor, again, or a fan, or whoever--by the end of the night, but he takes it anyway to appease his teammate. 

Joel chuckles in spite of himself, wrapping an arm around Colton’s shoulder. “How can you be the smartest person I know and a total idiot at the same time?”

“Guess I’m just a blockhead.” Colton says with a shrug. Joel shoves him lightly into the hallway, too fond by half.

// 

They find Fabbs bent over the gearshift of his car, head in Zach’s lap, bobbing up and down. Joel nudges Colton as they approach. He makes exaggerated sneaking movements around the side of the car, and Colton rolls his eyes, but follows quietly behind him, eyes widening as realizes what’s happening. 

Joel reaches the front seat, and knocks three times against the window as loud as he can. Fabbs springs up, smacking his head against the roof of the car, and Zach struggles to right himself. Robby curses loudly, and it’s then when Colton realizes he has a Sharpie, uncapped, in the side of his mouth, and he sees the half finished signature flashing on Zach’s abs. 

Colton blinks. “Are they both wearing crop tops too?” He asks Joel, who is absolutely losing it next to him. 

Joel wipes his mouth with his forearm. “Ch’yeah, I’m a trendsetter.” He reminds Colton, pulling him by the shirt towards the backseat of the car. 

“Was I supposed to wear one?” Colton asks, and Joel just pats his abs through his shirt. His hand is warm and wandering, for all that it was around Colton’s dick just a few minutes ago.

“I only let them do it because they can’t compete with me.” Joel clarifies, snaking a hand under Colton’s shirt to squeeze at his hip. “If you wore one I’d never pick up, Stanley Cup or not.” He sounds a little wistful, or as wistful as Joel Edmundson can be, but before Colton can dwell on it, Joel opens the door, and guides Colton to take the seat next to him. There’s enough room in the backseat of Robby’s car so they don’t have to, but Joel presses their thighs together anyway. 

“Where the fuck were you two?” Fabbs asks, spitting the pen out of his mouth towards them, and it lands on the seat next to Joel. He glares at them from the front seat. There’s a black smear on the side of his mouth that Joel fixates on like he wants to turn it into a Sharpie goatee. Colton grabs his hand and pins it over their thighs to stop him,

“I needed to get dressed.” Colton says hurriedly, at the same time as Joel breaks out in a smug smile and says: “We were fucking; maybe you virgins should’ve tried it.”

Fabbs scowls, and Zach pales a little. Robby turns to him, rolling his eyes. “You would be so lucky,” he says haughtily. “I would rock your world.” 

Zach looks a little peaky around the edges, though that’s not much different than how he looks normally. “If you throw up in my car, I’m sending pictures of your nipple ring to the NHL instagram,” Robby threatens him placidly. Colton frowns, ready to tell him to be nicer to the guy, but Joel just squeezes Colton’s palm reassuringly, before he attacks the back of Fabbs’ neck with the Sharpie. 

//

When they get to the Wheelhouse, there’s already a crowd gathered out front--Pat and Pear already having long arrived with the Cup--so Fabbs parks in a private alley Joel directs him to. Joel pulls Colton out of the car by the wrist, and as soon as Fabbs and Zach disappear around the corner he presses Colton against the side of the car, pinning him by the hip. 

“Joel, what--” Colton starts, before Joel pulls him down by his shirt collar and into a kiss. 

“Give ‘em hell tonight, babe.” Joel says. His voice is low and dark, drags with a shiver over Colton’s neck. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” He warns, grin dancing in the half-light. 

“What wouldn’t you do?” Colton asks, tracing his thumb over the edge of Joel’s jaw, one hand ghosting over the firm plane of his abs. Joel’s grin widens. 

“Exactly,” he says, his smile dancing so closely towards blasphemous you might as well call it devilish. Colton wraps a hand around Joel’s hip, holding him steady. To anyone else, Joel might be too much to handle, but Colton’s a big boy. He steals a kiss, and then another, so many he might as well be a robber, committing grand larceny. 

Joel kisses him with a promise in the corner of his mouth, an invitation for the world at large. Colton wants to break that promise, keep that promise for himself and just himself. He wants to hold Joel here, bend him over Robby’s car and fuck him until he can’t remember what it is to walk. 

There’s a chanting from beyond the alley, a dull roar for the city to sing their favorite song. Joel disengages from him, smoothing his crop top down. He gives him one last peck to the side of his mouth, a cheeky half-salute. “Duty calls, Parry,” Joel says, and he disappears into the crowd that loves him. 

Colton can’t do anything but follow. 

// 

Colton drinks, because he deserves it. He won a Stanley Cup, even if he doesn’t have the ring yet, and Stanley Cup winners get free drinks, from anyone who offers--and they’re always offering. They offer so much, beautiful women with sparkling eyes who look at Colton like they want to take him apart and put him back together, try to grind up on him on the dance floor with a whisper in his ear and more and more to give him. He takes the drinks, every time, and watches Joel put on a show. 

“He’s in his element, huh?” Factor says, as they watch Joel flit from table to table, climbing up and pouring drinks right into the mouths of willing fans. 

Factor has his hat slung low over his eyes. He’s favoring his left side, a pillow propped up against the wicker chair, but it doesn’t succeed in making him look anything but calm and casual. A few feet away from them, Joel helps a woman drink out of the Cup, cheap beer dribbling down her chin that he tries to fashion into a foam beard. 

Factor watches the scene with alert, interested eyes, like a king surveying his lands. Like Mufasa, showing Simba everything the light touches. With Petro not here and a Conn-Smythe to his name, he can do whatever he wants, Colton supposes. 

Colton narrows his eyes at Factor, studying him. He can’t tell if he’s looking at Joel with amusement or want, Colton’s not all that good at reading facial expressions in general, and the beard kind of makes it harder. “You know Eddy,” Colton finally says, with a shrug. “He does who he wants.” 

Factor doesn’t seem to notice his pointed statement, choosing instead to take a deep drink from his lager. He wonders if they hooked up at OB Clark’s, or after, while Colton was getting so plastered he might as well have been an Italian fresco. “Some idiot’s given him the CO2 gun.” Factor remarks instead. Colton follows his gaze, and sure enough Joel’s wandered over, messing with the mechanism curiously. “Can you make sure he doesn’t hurt himself?” He smiles at Colton, warm and kind under his beard, and Colton feels bad for feeling suspicious and holds out his hand. 

“What?” Factor asks, raising his eyebrows to the brim of his hat. Colton extends out his palm, and brings his fingers in twice. Factor sighs, and hands Colton his drink. Colton smiles at him, and chugs it, letting the smooth, expensive lager disappear into the black hole of his alcohol soaked body. 

Joel is in the middle of spraying the crowd when Colton grabs at him, trying to wrestle the gun from him. “Hands off, Parry!” Joel hollers. His face his flushed with exertion and alcohol, beaming at him in the low light. His crop top is plastered even tighter on his chest, half-soaked with beer, and his biceps strain against the scant sleeves. 

“Factor says share!” Colton laughs, pulling at the handle of the gun. His hands wrap around Joel’s trying to pull at his fingers, and Joel tries to push him away harmlessly. 

Joel’s eyes are more focused on Colton’s arms than anything else, and he licks his lips, shaking his head. “Fine, babe, let’s share,” He relaxes his grip without letting go, letting Colton guide the nozzle towards the crowd. Colton layers his fingers over Joel’s to press over the trigger, settling against the warmth of his shoulder as they spray the crowd together. 

Joel laughs next to him, wrapping a hand around Colton’s waist to rest at his hip as he surveys their work, the squealing crowd slipping around in the cold foam. They hand the gun to someone else, but Joel keeps his hand on Colton, toying with the hem of his shirt. “Dance with me.” Joel commands, balling his fingers up in Colton’s shirt to guide him. 

There’s enough of a crowd of people that the two of them can slip in easily, big as they are, the fans accepting them in a drunken haze of euphoria. In a crowd like this, you don’t know who you’re dancing with, melding into a seething mass of bodies and body glitter--but for Colton, there’s only one person in the room. 

Joel’s hips swivel in fluid arcs, more graceful than Colton’s skittish movements could ever mimic, but Joel seems to like it anyhow. The two of them fold into each other’s space, darting around the other dancers so Joel can find his way closer to Colton. Colton reaches out to brush against Joel’s side, fingers tracing a glittery path over his abs. 

Joel’s eyes are shining in the low light, his mouth turned up into a smirk that Colton wants to kiss off of him. Colton leans in, forgetting himself for a second, and Joel smirks. He spins on his heels, and suddenly he’s wrapped around Colton, back to Colton’s front. He leans back against Colton, forcing him to catch Joel as he slots his thigh to ghost over Colton’s crotch, rubbing against him in quick, purposeful movements. 

“Joel--” Colton warns, but Joel just laughs, turning his head to ghost his mouth over his jaw, barely a hair’s breadth between them. 

Joel reaches behind them to run his hand over the small of Colton’s back. He wraps his hand around one side of Colton’s ass, getting a good handful, and squeezes. Colton yelps as Joel reaches into his back pocket, pulling something out. Colton watches as he hooks their wrists together and presses it into the palm of his hand. Colton’s hand closes around the crinkly synthetic metal of a condom packet. 

“Here?” Colton half-whispers, eyes wide. He’s straining hard against his jeans, and Joel’s so close there’s no way he can’t tell. 

Joel laughs again, and slides a hand under Colton’s shirt to rub over his abs before he starts pulling him in another direction. “I’ve got a place,” Joel says.  
Joel leads him across the dancefloor, to a side hallway Colton didn’t even know was there, tucked in behind some posters. It’s cleaner than the rest of the bar, which is being progressively destroyed by a city triumphant, and there’s a pair of doors at the end of the hallway with keypads on their handles. Joel punches in a code and pulls Colton into a darkened room. 

The lights flicker on automatically as Colton stumbles in. Joel locks the door behind Colton and backs up into a black marble sink, hands gripping the edge backwards as he stares up at Colton with expectant eyes. “Is this a bathroom?” Colton asks, and Joel snorts, thumbing at the toilet. 

“It’s a staff bathroom, yeah.” Joel says, pulling out a little bottle of lube--stolen from Colton’s dresser, he notes--from his pocket and throwing it towards him. Colton decides against asking why he has the code and takes the two strides to sweep Joel up by the hips and pull him into a kiss instead. He smells like cheap tequila and tastes like expensive tequila, yielding to Colton’s strength as he presses him up against the sink. The club is a dull roar behind thick concrete walls, and it doesn’t matter how they got here if Colton has Joel all to himself.

Colton runs his hands over Joel’s sides, thumbs dragging over his abs. “You really want me to fuck you in this bathroom? All our fans outside, right here?” Joel moans against him, grip tight against the sink as he lets Colton bear down on him. “I kind of wanted to fuck you in a bed.” Colton admits, trailing kisses over Joel’s jaw down to the nape of his neck. 

“Next time,” Joel gasps out, bucking his hips up against Colton’s thigh, and Colton takes the opportunity to find the perfect spot to suck a bruise over Joel’s collar.

“Next time.” Colton repeats, firmly. Joel hisses a breath between his lips that Colton punctuates with a scrape of his teeth back over the bruise. One hand snakes its way under Joel’s crop top and the other stabilizes at his thigh, hefting at the thin fabric as he pulls Joel up. The fabric tears away like rice paper against the strain of Colton’s arm, ripping in half as Joel curses, giddy. 

Colton lays him over the sink, his hips on the edge and his shoulders pushed up against the mirror as he pulls off Joel’s belt, peels off his jeans and throws them haphazardly to the floor. He holds one of Joel’s legs over his shoulders and kneels down between them. He runs his thumb in circles, curiously, over Joel’s hole, and Joel says his name. 

“Colton, Jesus Christ!” Joel gasps out teeth gritted and grip tight against either side of the sink to keep himself up. “Anyone who says you’re a Boy Scout never fucking--” 

Colton smiles at him, ear to ear, and plunges his tongue into his hole. 

Joel explodes in a litany of curses and moans, bucking down against Colton to try and get him deeper, get more of him. He writhes over the sink, jostling the mirror behind him as he leans back against it. He’s loud, always loud, obnoxious in a way that Colton normally loves, but. 

Colton draws away, half-breathless. His lips are dry and cracked for all the alcohol he’s been drinking, and eating Joel out like he’s parched and Joel’s ass is his oasis is fun, but doesn’t help much with the actual thirst. He paws at the discarded remains of Joel’s shirt and shoves them toward him. “Put that in your mouth if you’re gonna be so loud.” Colton growls, licking his lips up at Joel. “I don’t want anyone trying to come in here while I’m inside you.” 

“That’d be hot.” Joel says. Colton colors a little and shakes his head. Joel chuckles, and brings what’s left of his crop top to his mouth anyway. He bites down on the fabric, and poses a muffled question of approval. Colton takes a moment to appreciate the sight, Joel spread out over a sink for him, dark bruise bobbing on the nape of his neck as he strains to keep himself quiet, asshole wet and ready for him, just for him. He’d think he doesn’t know what he did to deserve this, but he won a Stanley Cup. 

He spends a little more time opening Joel up with his tongue and his fingers, lapping at him relentlessly until Joel is whining around his makeshift gag for him. 

Colton gets up and starts to get his clothes off, but Joel just whines at him impatiently, kicking at his side when he tries. Colton just manages to get his pants around his ankles and the condom rolled on when Joel pushes himself up to wrap his arms and legs around him, trying to guide Colton’s cock towards his hole. 

“Slow down, babe.” Colton tells him, and Joel spits the fabric out of his mouth. 

“Fuck no, fuck me now or I’m gonna go out there and hop on the first dick I see I swear to God, Parry!” Joel streams out furiously, scrambling over Colton’s back for purchase in a way that stretches Colton’s shirt. Joel’s own dick is hard and pulsing over his stomach, and it looks like a trial for him to ignore it in favor of getting Colton inside him. 

Colton, as he always does, obliges. He holds Joel up by his back, easing him down onto his cock inch by inch. Joel takes it with gritted teeth, nails digging into the side of the sink as he takes more and more of Colton. 

Colton’s big, and every bit of him is proportional. It’s always made sex kind of awkward, since anyone who wanted to try would be like a bull in a china shop, if Colton’s dick was the bull and the china shop was him trying to get his dick inside them without anyone having to go to an emergency room. So he goes slow, he goes easy, with shallow, careful thrusts. 

“Hey Colt?” Joel grits out between his teeth, bearing his hips down on Colton as much as he can. His curls are a matted mess over his forehead, and his eyes are bloodshot. “You remember how `I’m 6 foot-fucking-4 and 215 pounds and if you don’t start fucking me like it I’m going to kill you?” 

“Oh,” Colton says, blinking. “You wouldn’t kill me.” Joel twists a little around his dick vindictively, and Colton braces against him. 

Colton speeds up after that, fucking into Joel with relentless, pounding thrusts. The sink shakes underneath the weight of them, the mirror vibrating the wall as Colton slams Joel against it again and again and again. Freed from his makeshift gag, Joel is almost howling, laughing and cursing and loving every second of Colton’s huge dick slamming against his prostate. 

Almost instinctively, Colton starts to lift him. He pulls him up from the sink, his arms straining as he picks Joel up. He lets Joel wrap his arms around him so he can fuck him, suspended in the air, with only their combined strength keeping Joel up as he splits him open. 

He keeps it up until he stumbles forward, slamming Joel against the door hard enough to jostle its frame. He hones in on the bruise he’d given him--one of a few now, but still the most prominent mark--and latches his mouth over it, deepening the mark as he thrusts into Joel again, and again, Joel’s cock caught between his abs and Colton’s and-- 

“Colt!” Joel calls out as his only warning, as he starts to come, shooting his load all over Colton’s chest for the second time today, only this time Colton’s still wearing a shirt, and it mixes into the fabric. Colton can’t find himself to care as he feels Joel convulse around him, because of him and only him, and he slams in one last time before he pulls out.

Joel makes a half-questioning noise, too fucked out of his mind to form a coherent sentence, but Colton just pulls off the condom, throwing it behind him as he presses his cock against Joel’s abs. “I’ve gotta,” Colton starts. “Your fucking abs, I need to--” 

“Go for it, dude.” Joel says, breathless, and Colton takes that permission to rub up against Joel, trapping his own cock between them as he stains Joel’s beautifully sculpted abs with his precome. Joel does his best to help, whispering over Colton’s ear about how hot he is, how much of a fucking beast he is, and it doesn’t take long before Colton’s coming again, painting Joel’s abs and chest with his come. 

Colton holds Joel up in one hand and rubs his come over Joel’s stomach with the other, letting it glisten over his skin before he moves down, half-giddy as he licks a long stripe over Joel’s abs. 

Colton lets Joel down from the door, and they lay in a heap together on the bathroom floor, covered in each other’s come. They try to clean each other off, but spend more time kissing, really. 

“God, you’re easy.” Joel muses, running a tattered piece of his shirt over his stomach. 

Colton makes a questioning noise, looking at him with content, half-lidded eyes.  
“You’re the first one I chose, and it doesn’t take you anything to get you to give me some of the most mindblowing fucking I’ve ever had, bro.” Joel explains. Colton blinks, and furrows his brow at him, unsure if it’s a compliment, or--

“Wonder what I’d have to do to get Factor to fuck me like this?” Joel says, and all the color drains from Colton’s face. 

“What?” Colton asks, pushing himself up into a sitting position. “You haven’t already--” 

“You’ve been so easy, and Factor shouldn’t be this much harder, right? I’m gonna try him again, after a fuck like that, bound to be easier.” Joel responds, like that explains anything. He starts to get up, shimmying his jeans back on and gathering the remains of his shirt to sling around his shoulders like a scarf. “You ruined my look.” Joel says. 

Colton stares down as the drying come crusting his shirt over his skin. “So did you.” He shoots back. 

“Oof yeah, pretty grody.” Joel admits. He gets up, leaning down a little as if he means to kiss Colton, but Colton dodges with a wince. Joel frowns at him, and pats him on the shoulder. “Mix in a water, bud.” Joel advises, and gives him a jaunty wink before sauntering out, and leaving Colton alone. 

// 

“Hey, can I get a water?” Colton asks the bartender, a short woman with curly hair and a judgemental eyebrow. His head is reeling, and he’d stolen a couple drinks off the tables on the way down here, and there may be two of her. 

“You all right, honey?” She asks, setting the glass she’s cleaning down on the bar. Her nametag says: Sheila, and unless she’s got an identical twin also named Sheila, Colton’s pretty sure he’s seeing double. 

“I’m fine, Sheilas.” Colton lies. He glances at the crowd of people around him waiting for drinks. “Do you need any help?” He can’t help but ask. 

Sheila stares at him. “You have jizz on your shirt, buddy.” She says, matter-of-factly. Colton turns bright red. She shakes her head. “Follow me.” She tells him, and then yells down toward the other end of the bar. “I’m taking my five!” She calls down, and Pear--who has climbed shirtless on top of the bar, volunteers to cover her by pouring vodka over himself. “Follow me.” She tells Colton, thumbing towards a door behind the bar. 

“Is this where you keep your water?” Colton asks as she leads him down a side hallway, like where the staff bathroom was. The color on Colton’s face deepens as he remembers the state they left that bathroom in. “Or your...murder?” He tries meekly, and she just rolls her eyes at him. 

She reaches a bank of lockers with a box next to it, and pulls out a shirt, still in its packaging. It says Staff on the back, and it’s very official looking. “Put this on.”

“Do I work here now?” Colton asks, shrugging off his disgusting shirt. 

“No, it’s just a--” 

“I promise I’ll be a hard worker.” Colton interrupts, laying a hand on her shoulder. Sheila just shakes her head again, and lets him take a place at the other end of the bar. 

Colton thinks he’d be a good bartender, if he wasn’t a hockey player. He’s good it at, mixes good drinks. He takes a long swig of the Long Island iced tea he’d just made, and nods profusely. He’s a good listener, very gracious. 

“Hey, can you take a picture of us with this?” The fan whose drink he’d just drank half of asks, holding up a hockey card. Colton squints at it--it’s his rookie card, and it’s already signed. He beams at the fan, nodding twice, and takes the card. He holds it between two fingers, flashes his winningest smile at it, and waits. “Um,” The fan says, holding up her phone. 

“Smooth move, Colt.” Joel says, striding towards him. He’s got the remains of his crop top around his neck and two glowsticks in both his pockets. His abs sparkle, Colton’s come washed off with another bath of cheap tequila.

“Please get off my bar.” Colton tells him as politely as he can. 

Joel laughs, shooting a smile at him that makes his chest tighten. His face is flushed with alcohol and being freshly fucked, and it’s a good look on him. Colton’s never really seen a bad look on him, and he kind of hates it. 

A customer asks for the IPA on tap, and Colton grabs a pint for them. He tries to ignore Joel as he picks up one of his glowsticks, juggles it between his hands. “We should open a bar together.” Joel muses. “You’d do the bartending, and all the financial stuff, with your big, fancy degree.” Colton looks up at him, furrowing his brow. 

“What would you do?” He asks, shaking the glass to banish some of the foam. 

“I’d dance.” Joel says, smiling devilishly, with a flourish of his hips. Colton watches him, feeling light and airy. It wouldn’t be the worst thing, running a bar with Joel. Settling him down, watching him dance every night, bending him over the barstools when the customers clear out. The drink starts to overflow, beer spilling over Colton’s hand, and he snaps the tap shut and starts to sip at it hurriedly. The fan who wanted the drink stares at both of them. “Do you think Factor would be into it if I gave him a lap dance?” Joel asks, and Colton’s grip tightens over the glass.

His teeth grit together, and something ugly twists in his chest. “For fuck’s sake, Joel.” Colton scoffs, and he makes a decision. He chugs the rest of the beer, Joel and the customer both staring at him as he finishes off the glass and slams the pint down on the bar. “I’m taking my five!” He hollers at Sheila. 

“You don’t actually work here!” Sheila yells back. 

Colton gestures at Joel to follow him as he vaults over the bar with one hand, barrelling past the customer and through the crowd, back towards the upper level. Joel’s eyes are wide and curious, but he trails behind him, arm brushing against the back of his shirt as he tries to keep him in the crowd. 

Factor’s in the same place they’d left him, reigning court as people drink from the Cup. He looks up at Colton as he strides towards him, and he barely gets a word out before Colton grabs him by the scruff of his fancy expensive shirt, and kisses him. 

Factor kisses differently from Joel, not the least because he’s surprised and surrounded by hollering teammates, fans, and the Stanley Cup itself. His beard is soft against Colton’s jaw, much softer than Joel’s stubble, and he feels solid as Colton bears down on him. 

“What the fuck, Colt!” Joel sputters behind him, and Colton takes the opportunity to break the kiss. 

“Uh,” Factor cuts in, touching his lips with his fingers. “I’m flattered guys, but I’m marr--” 

“Shut the fuck up, O’Rielly,” Colton snaps, and Factor bristles. He wipes his mouth with his arm, and glares at Joel. “If you’re not gonna fuck him, I will.” Colton says, with a bit of a growl.

Joel looks between him and Factor, and then him, and then Factor again. 

Colton groans exasperatedly, and pushes past him, barrelling back down the stairs. 

He finds his way back to the bar, heaving with anger, and Sheila presses a water into his hands. 

What the _fuck_ did he just do?

// 

Joel finds Colton on the sidewalk, water half-empty at his side, fiddling on his phone. Joel’s wearing someone else’s coat--probably Factor’s, as he sits down next to him. Their shoulders are almost close enough to touch, but they don’t. 

“What are you doing out here, dude?” Joel asks quietly. 

Colton doesn’t look up at him. “Trying to donate to a whale.” He groans and buries his face in his hands. “I can’t believe I did that to Dayna.” 

“Maybe donate to two whales.” Joel tries, and Colton glances at him. Colton’s gotten pretty good at recognizing what Joel looks like after he’s had a quickie, but he’s not sure he knows much of anything nowadays. 

“Did you--” He asks, trailing off before he can say it. Joel shakes his head. 

“I felt like, real weird when I saw you kiss Factor. It was kinda hot, at first, but then I just started getting all mad and sad and stuff.” Joel inches a little closer to him, and brushes their shoulders together. “I thought I was just hungry or something, so I got some nachos, but they didn’t really help. And I couldn’t stop thinking about how easy you are.” 

Colton blinks. “Thanks.” He says, and Joel shakes his head. Colton feels a brush against his knuckles, and he realizes Joel is trying to lace their fingers together. 

“No, it’s like--you make things so easy for me, Colt.” Joel tries. “I thought I wanted a challenge, after we won, that’d be sick to do something hard. But we won the Cup, and I think--” 

“Fucking rights, man.” Colton says, and Joel smiles. Colton lets Joel hold his hand. 

“Fucking rights.” Joel echoes, and he squeezes Colton’s palm. Joel’s eyes shine in the low light, and it’d be so, so easy to kiss him, so he does. 

“Did you get me some nachos?” Colton asks, peppering kisses over Joel’s jaw. Joel laughs, bright and beautiful.

“You won a Stanley Cup, Colt.” Joel reminds him, his smirk a promise in the corner of his mouth. “I’ll get you whatever you want.

**Author's Note:**

> a lot of the stuff depicted in this fic: joel's crop tops, colton bartending in two different bars, the CO2 gun, colton trying to take a picture using a hockey card, all actually happened and i barely even scratched the surface so keep on vibing and keeping it tight and hit me up on my [tumblr](https://samgirard.tumblr.com)


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